Adventures Beyond the Edge - Mikayla's Journal
Mikayla’s Journal - Prequel Entry
I have been sold into slavery, but the ship chartered by my unknown master was attacked by pirates. Escaping the ship as it was sinking, I managed to persuade the passengers in one of the lifeboats to take me in. And so I am free once more, along an unknown shore. Among the wreckage that washed ashore with us I found a crate that contained blank ledgers, quills and ink, all carefully sealed in oilskin packets, protected from the ravages of the sea.
Remembering the many pleasurable hours I spent as a child reading my mother’s journals of her adventures, I have decided to chronicle my own journeys. Perhaps one day my mother may read these pages, or perhaps I may one day have a daughter or son who will enjoy them, reading them over and over again while I am away, as I read my mother’s while she and my father were off on their journeys.
When I was a child, I often daydreamed, anticipating the time when I would be old enough to set off and see the world, fighting evil and discovering ancient treasures, just like my parents. Little could I imagine the circumstances that would force me from my home, or the paths down which my life would lead me.
When I was young I wanted above all else to be like my parents, earning my mother’s respect was always a goal of mine. Lady Morgan, Paladin of the Knight of the Gods, was the daughter of a Duke of the Realm. Beautiful, wise and determined, she demanded a lot from me, expecting me to make full use of the tutors she hired to teach me. I studied History, Geography, Mathematics, Religion and Languages, but it was the Arts of War where I applied myself most willingly.
I practiced faithfully every day with my sword, and not even the broken arm I got climbing the old oak tree in the village green stopped me; I merely switched from right hand to left, practicing all the harder to overcome the weakness and clumsiness of my left hand and arm. My dedication impressed my arms master enough that he decided, once the break had fully healed and I had once more regained my strength and agility in my right arm, to teach me the two-blade style of fighting, wielding a second sword in the place of a shield, with which to not only block my opponent’s sword thrusts, but to also attack .
I loved my mother, but was also just a little in awe of her. My father I simply loved with all my heart. He was a tall, hearty man with a big, booming laugh, in every way the seeming opposite of his wife. Dark where she was fair, easy-going where she was intense, he was the perfect counterbalance to my mother. The son of the village smith, William was more at home in the wilderness than in the smithy, and as a young boy learned to track anything that moved on two feet or four, silently ghosting through the woods, and what he aimed at with his bow, he always hit with his arrows. When he was old enough, he joined the Duke’s men as a scout, rising quickly through the ranks.
And that is how my parents met, on a campaign against an incursion of raiders. They fell in love, and were soon married. The Duke, when he found out, disinherited my mother and discharged my father, but that did not matter to them. They had each other, and that was enough for them.
But Lady Morgan was never meant to be just a wife and mother. Eventually the day came when her God called upon her. Entrusting their infant daughter to the care of William’s brother and his wife, the two set out into the world once more.
To say my childhood was unique was putting it mildly. It was a happy time, filled with strange dichotomies. On the one hand, I lived in a small one-room cottage behind the smithy, sleeping in a loft with my cousins Eliza and Thomas, playing with all the village children. On the other hand, I had schooling that went well beyond what any of the other children needed, or wanted.
Many of the villagers took advantage of my teachers, paying in goods and services for their children to get some learning. So in the early years, many of my playmates were also my schoolmates. But later, as the learning became more advanced, fewer and fewer of the children kept me company at my lessons, especially the ones in heraldry, protocol and etiquette. Disowned she might be, but Lady Morgan was determined her daughter would be taught everything the granddaughter of a Duke should know.
My tutors soon learned the best ways to motivate me when I rebelled against learning what I saw as useless information. I lived for my weapons work, and so was denied it if I had not learned my other lessons to my teachers’ satisfaction, and my weaponsmaster was the hardest taskmaster of all, often telling me sternly that knowledge was a weapon in and of itself. Knowing your enemy, he would say, is half the battle won. Often, when I would question the use of advanced mathematics, the sciences, or even etiquette, it was he who showed me how even such seemingly inconsequential information as the local trading commodities could be turned to my advantage, influencing what he called Strategy and Tactics.
And that is how my childhood ran for my first twelve years, my teachers as much a parent to me as my Uncle and Aunt, with my real parents appearing without warning to spend an intense few weeks or months before going off again once more.
It was a fine spring day, the first day in a week where the rising sun was not hidden in early morning mist or rain. It was the Spring Equinox, and this evening the unmarried girls of the village would dance the Maypole. Eliza wished to search for bridal blessing, a small, fragrant pink flower, to weave into her hair. Legend has it that to dance the Maypole with a veil of bridal blessing was to ensure the meeting of one’s own true love before Year’s End, and Eliza was of an age to marry. Eliza, slender and fair with a gentle smile and a kind heart, was in no need of a veil to attract the attention of the village lads, but wanted the good omens brought by the veil. And so off we went, Eliza to gather and weave her veil, I to practice with my bow.
It was a perfect day, spent chasing butterflies and wayward arrows, gathering flowers and the first of the sweet tiny redberries. We picnicked in a glade by the rill, while Eliza taught me how to weave the flowers. Finally we set off for home, as the sun slowly made its way toward the horizon. As we came out of a copse of trees, just one rise away from the village, we came face to face with a party of four young men on horseback. They hailed us laughingly, smiling down at Eliza and claiming to be lost. Even if I had not recognized their devices I still would have known them for nobles; their expensive leathers and velvets would have fed the entire village for a year.
They swung off their mounts, each one of which was probably worth the income of a year’s labor from our village, and walked next to Eliza, laughing and teasing, and offering her a ride home. Me they ignored, taking me for a lad, I think, with my hair cropped short as it was. (I had tired of fighting with the long fine mass that winter, and taken a knife to the plait.) Eliza spoke to them politely, but I could tell they made her nervous and uncomfortable. And even now, six years later, I find it hard to write what happened next.
One of the young, so-called “gentlemen” swung back up on his horse. Another swooped Eliza up off the ground and tossed her up to the one in the saddle, as the others also mounted up. Screaming and kicking, Eliza tried to get free, pleading with her captures to let her go, but her cries fell upon deaf ears. I drew my bow and notched and arrow, aiming carefully to not hit Eliza, but before I could let fly, the last of the youths, having just climbed into the saddle, swung his sword at me. I ducked, but the blade caught me alongside my head, knocking me to the ground. For a moment everything was black, though still I heard Eliza’s cries as if from a great distance. I tried to rise but, sick and dizzy, was unable to do more than huddle to the ground retching in pain. There I lay as the sun slowly set, listening to Eliza’s cries of terror and pain. Finally the only sound to be heard was the laughter of the men, then the fading hoofbeats of the departing horses.
It was full dark when Uncle John came upon us, using the miller’s hounds to find our trail. I was several weeks recovering from the sword blow to my head, and when I finally was able to get up and speak, it was to find that Eliza was greatly changed by her ordeal. She refused to speak, refused to even look at anyone, cringing away from all who came near, even her mother. She would, at best, sit in a chair by the fire, arms wrapped around herself, rocking. She never said another word again.
Everyone could guess what had happened, of course, but until I was able to give witness, nothing could be done. Well, I might not have known their names, but I knew their families, thanks to my mother’s insistence that I be fully educated, so as soon as I was well enough, my Uncle and the Mayor of the village took me to the Magistrate. And that is when I learned how cruel and unfair life can be. The magistrate listened gravely to all I had to say, questioning me closely about how I knew the identities of the men who I had seen attack my cousin and myself. He told the Mayor and my uncle that he would speak to the boys’ fathers. Much to my surprise, the Mayor and my uncle nodded, and we left.
Two weeks later, one of the Magistrate’s grooms came to the smithy and handed my uncle a small bag, which contained forty gold coins. This, we were told, was the fine that had been imposed upon the young men for their actions, and that was the end of the matter. There was to be no trial, no punishment. No one in the village seemed surprised at the outcome, except for the fact that so much money had been forthcoming. It was eventually generally agreed that the Magistrate had imposed the large fine because of the tenuous connection between my uncle and the Duke.
Angry and confused, I sought for an answer as to why these men had been allowed to get away with committing such a heinous crime. My uncle simply told me to leave it be, the Mayor told me it was the way of the world. It was my swordmaster who finally explained it to me fully. It was he who explained that there was one set of laws for the people, another for the aristocrats. Had the boys done what they did to one of their own class, which they of course would never have even thought to do, then they would have been punished. But Eliza was a commoner, a peasant whose family had no wealth or influence of noble birthright, and therefore the young nobles would not be punished by the law for their deeds.
I was shocked to the core of my being. This went against everything I had ever been taught, by my teachers or my mother, about the codes of honor, chivalry and nobility. When I mentioned this to my swordmaster, he shook his head and told me that unfortunately, many nobles seemed to view honor and chivalry as something due only to other nobles. Unsatisfied, I fretted while waiting for my parents to return, certain that they would make everything right.
As time passed, it became obvious that Eliza was with child. Though all of us were as gentle as we knew how to be with her, she never got better. It was as if, unable to bear the brutality of what had been done to her, her gentle soul had fled, leaving behind only the husk of her body. Summer passed into fall, which passed into winter and one morning I woke to see snow drifting gently down from the sky. Eliza’s bed was empty, her clothing gone, and I felt a stirring of hope, for always since that day she had to be woken up and dressed, just like a babe.
Excitedly I scrambled into my own clothes and scampered down the ladder, calling out for Eliza. Both Uncle John and Aunt Elizabeth were surprised to hear Eliza had gotten herself up and dressed this morning, and both were obviously worried, hurrying out into the snow, calling Eliza’s name. A bit frightened, I hurried to the smithy to fetch Thomas, as it was his job to build up the forge fires in the morning.
I shall never forget that morning. The soft, diffused quality of the morning light, the hush as the snow pattered down, the sharp chill of the breezy little wind that set the flakes swirling in the air, the creak of the rope, as Eliza’s body swayed in the breeze, her hair and clothing patterned with a light dusting of snow. I remember wondering dimly who was making that pitiful, thin keening, as Thomas came running out of the forge, and my aunt and uncle came hurrying from behind me. It was only when my aunt began to make that exact same sound, as my uncle, tears streaming down his face, caught her up in his arms that I realized the screaming was coming from my own mouth.
Eliza’s death was like a bad omen, foreshadowing tragic times to come. My parents made a short visit that winter, both obviously deeply troubled about some sort of evil they had uncovered. They didn’t speak much of it, but my mother spent a great deal of her time with me, telling me all the hopes and dreams she had for me. My father said little, but hugged me often. When they left, it was with a reluctance that was obvious, and a sadness that was different from all our other partings. It was as if they were afraid they would never see me again, and indeed I have had no word of them since.
In my sixteenth year, spring came late, the summer was short and wet, fall heralded by a sharp freeze that killed most of the crops before they could be gathered in. A plague, called the Red Fever, swept the land, made barren by one of the coldest, cruelest winters ever known. Everyone was feeling the pinch of hunger, and all shared what meager little we had, supplemented by hunting, and even a little poaching in the Duke’s forests.
The was no gold, and little silver to be had, yet still the tax collectors came, handing out notices of eviction to those who could not pay, and threatening those who protested with prison. Troubled at the injustice of what was happening, I went to the Duke, to seek an audience to plead for my village. I was certain that he simply did not know the true state of affairs, and that when he understood how bad things really were, he would aid those who had served him so long and faithfully, helping them through the winter and aiding in the spring planting so that they could recover and once more provide the Duke with the fruits of their labor.
What a fool I was. The Duke cared not for the people who lived and worked his land, who year after year provided him with the lion’s share of their labors. He cared only that he was getting next to nothing from his lands this year, and that he blamed the people for what nature had wrought. I looked at these nobles, with their soft hands and chubby cheeks, their sumptuous clothing and rich jewels, carelessly tossing bones laden with meat to the dogs lounging beneath the tables. I listened to the Duke speak of the inherent laziness of the commonfolk, and how their carelessness and lack of foresight and planning had brought their fate upon themselves, and I lost my temper.
I spoke with even greater eloquence than before, accusing them of being parasites, leeches draining the common folk who toiled daily from sunup to sundown so that the lot of them could laze about swilling wine and stuffing their faces like geese being fattened for Winter Solstice. My birth may have saved my tongue and my life, but it did not save me from a flogging and a threeday in the stocks.
Less than a fortnight after returning home, a stranger came to stay overnight at the village inn. He sought me out and told me he had been in the audience chamber when I had tried to speak on behalf of the people of my village. He had been impressed by both my speech and my tirade, and asked me if I had meant what I had said about nobles. Bitterly, I told him about the injustice done to my cousin, and the things being done against the good people of the village and told him that yes, I meant every word, and more. He invited me to meet with others who held the same views, and were quietly doing what they could to change things.
And so I joined the Blackfoot Society, and began my life as an outlaw. The Society’s goals were simple enough; they worked to undo the ravages that the nobility did to the commonfolk, striving to take away the power of the nobles and place it into the hands of the people who worked hard to make an honest living. I worked with them for a little over a year, making contacts, doing what I could to further their goals. And one day, while pursuing an errand in a nearby city, I chanced to spy one of my cousin’s attackers, one of the men responsible for Eliza’s death. I followed him to a brothel, where he met with another of those young swine.
Over the next few weeks, while I conducted the business of the Society that had brought me to the city, I spent all my spare time watching the young reprobate. The company he kept consisted of several young nobles, and servant gossip whispered of many deplorable habits. I watched and waited, learning the habits of all four of those men who had raped and murdered my cousin. Finally, I turned to my friends in the Blackfoot Society, asking for help in administering a long overdue justice.
One night, as the four of them came reeling out of a brothel, much the worse for drink, we surrounded them and took them captive. We hustled them into a closed carriage and made our way to an abandoned, rundown warehouse near the old docks, where we bound and gagged them, and waited for them to sober up. We tried them for their crimes, and in their arrogance they did not deny their deeds, scoffing about so much fuss being made over a mere peasant wench who had been no better than she should be. Even when confronted with the knowledge that they had driven her to her death, they still refused to feel remorse, not a one of them sorry that they had caused a beautiful, gentle girl to go mad and kill herself. My aunt and uncle had been well recompensed, they argued.
It was I who chose their fate, as Eliza had been my cousin. I am sure they expected to be killed, and showed some measure of bravery when facing their fate, but it was not in my mind to be so kind. A swift death was more mercy than they had shown Eliza, and I was determined that they should live their lives in sorrow, ruing forever their deeds of that day. It was I who spoke their sentence, and I who wielded the knife that delivered Eliza’s vengeance. Although I was vilely ill afterwards, I castrated them, made sure that they would not bleed to death from their wounds, and had them returned to their homes, each with 10 gold pieces in a bag tied to their wrists. My cousin’s life had been dear to my aunt and uncle, to my cousin, to the miller’s son, Arvid, to me. Mere gold would not bring her back, mere gold would not replace her, or fill the emptiness left by our loss. Mere gold would not stay the hand of justice.
But gold has the power to do many things; some good, many bad. I do not know how much gold it took to buy a traitor, but buy one it did. One night, as our group rode to bring relief to a little hamlet hit hard by spring floods, we were ambushed by a contingent of the Duke’s soldiers. We fought hard, but those of us not killed in the skirmish were captured and marched towards the Duke’s main estate. We all knew it was the gallows for us, and I was certain that my identity would not spare me this time. In this I was wrong.
We were several days on the road, each night staying in a village, where we spent the night tied up in a tavern cellar. All but one night, where bad weather and downed trees on the forest road hindered our day’s travel, and we were forced to make camp. It was in the quiet hours just before dawn that the Captain woke me. He had long served in the army with my father, and for my father’s sake he would let me go free if only I swore to leave the district, never to step foot again on the Duke’s lands. At first I refused, determined to share the fate of my comrades, but it was at their urging that I finally agreed to escape. They bade me go, find the identity of the one who had betrayed us to the Duke’s men, and avenge their deaths. With a heavy heart, I finally agreed, and left, making my way north, seeking out another band of the Blackfoot Society.
I was with this new group only a matter of days before we came across a couple of men who claimed to be fleeing from a betrayal within their own group. I was eager to speak with them, hoping to discover that their traitor was one and the same as my former group. Alas, to my sorrow I found that these two men were the traitors, bought with gold to kidnap me and sell me into slavery. It seemed that the families of the men upon whom I extracted justice wanted revenge of their own. They wished for me, too, to spend a life in suffering. And suffer I did.
The slavers beat me, raped me, stripped me of everything I owned and treated me worse than an animal, but I refused to let them break me, praying to the Knight of the Gods for the strength to endure, which I was granted. Eventually I was put on a ship, bound for where, I did not know. Finally I was sold on the block, in the company of a young halfling, taken and chained in the hold of another ship, with yet another unknown destination before me. But the Fates decreed that I was not to remain in bondage. Our ship was attacked by pirates, and, as I mentioned at the beginning of this tale, I managed to escape with my life and my freedom.
